A L
by Ponderess
Summary: Because ever since the thought of shipping Annie/Levi occurred to me I couldn't let it go. Because I literally found nothing on these two, so I needed to put something out there. Because I listened to that kind of music that got me in the mood. Take your pick. - A post-titan drabble about Annie and Levi. Slight manga spoilers for chapter 31-34.


**A/N:** I've been listening to _Another Love_ by Tom Odell on repeat for hours and I needed to convey the feeling the song leaves me with into fiction. Since this mood doesn't fit my Annie/Eren fic I'm currently working on and I've had the thought of writing an Annie/Levi fic in the back of my mind anyway, this little oneshot happened.

There is no actual connection to the lyrics of _Another Love._

Also, this is mostly for myself, but I thought I'd share it here, in case someone wants to read it.

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**A. L.**

He stares at the broken tiles, the cracks his fist caused. The impact left his hand aching. The stinging pain tears at the numbness in his body. It's a substitute for the pain that has worn out his heart so much he can no longer feel it.

The anger that caused the outburst is already ebbing off. And again he is just tired. Not tired of a long and stressful day – which it wasn't – tired of life. Nothing a good night of sleep could fix.

He flexes his hand carefully, estimating if something is broken. It doesn't feel like it, but it wouldn't even matter. He has been rendered useless long ago. That day most of his comrades had laid their bodies down in the last battle of mankind. That day the people celebrated their breakout from the walls, but of which he just remembered standing on a field of death.

Surviving had never hurt so much before.

He leans over the bucket of water that stands ready and with his hands brings some of the cool liquid to his face. After refreshing his skin a little and taking a few sips to drink he dries himself off on a nearby towel.

In the darkness of the night he sneaks back to the bedroom. He halts at the open door, leaning in the doorframe and taking in the sight.

She's lying on her stomach, her tiny body tangled up in the sheets. Blond strands of hair are messily scattered over her face and around her head. The moonlight is illuminating her bare back, making her skin look even paler than it actually is.

He found her in that field of dead bodies and he wanted to make her one of them. It was easy to hate a stranger, someone that all he knew of for sure was that she had the blood of people dear to him on her hands. But when he looked into her eyes for the first time – her real eyes unaltered by crystal – he just couldn't do it.

It takes one to know one.

They were the only survivors on that field. They both had lost so much. So they clung to each other because they had no one else to turn to.

He took her in silent heat and with angry passion, not even bothering with all the reasons why he really shouldn't. And she gave herself up to him without objection. They lost themselves in each other. For a night. For days. For weeks.

As a survivor of the battle that brought humanity's victory and freedom he was offered everything he needed to get by for the rest of his life. He accepted the stinging gratitude, breaking with his principle to always work for what he got. By then he had gone beyond caring.

They started to talk. Bit by bit they shared pieces of themselves. They uncovered each other's souls just like before they had explored each other's bodies.

Both were hurting, but there was little comfort in words. Only the passion made them forget about it for a bit, until with the years the memories gradually faded. The pain became easier to deal with. Or maybe they just got used to it.

They sank into numbness, their lives centring on the bedroom they shared. It wasn't a way of living it was just a way to get by. And in time the nights in which he angrily stared at his reflection and cursed himself for still breathing became more infrequent.

Tonight is one of those rare nights, but he has learned to deal with them. He always leaves the room to give himself a moment in which the emotions boil up and the faces of the people slaughtered on the battlefield haunt him. Then he slips back into the bed beside her. Just like now.

The sheets on his side of the bed have gone cold in his absence, but he doesn't mind. He turns on his side to face her. Her face is turned the other way, but he takes delight in the soft outlines of her back as it lightly rises and falls with every deep breath she takes.

With his fingers he traces her spine from between her shoulder blades to where the sheets cover her hips. Then his lips go over to caress the skin of her left shoulder.

She stirs, his touch luring her from her sleep. He backs off a little, giving her the space she needs to turn around. Her blue eyes blink sleepily at him and he dwells in the sweetness of her face still in the process of waking up.

There's no need for words. She knows him too well to have to ask questions. Her arms wrap around him, pulling him into her warmth. He inhales her scent at the curve of her neck before resting his head on the pillow close beside her.

They wrap up close, entangling their limbs with each other. It's a remaining habit from their first year together, when it felt like they were holding on to each other for dear life.

And then she kisses him goodnight, her lips chasing away the names of the one's he has lost, the names whose weight he carries since their voices faded from this world.


End file.
